


Reckless denial

by Straycatsareblack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester / Reader - Freeform, Dean/Reader - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Pregnancy, Reader has a past, Worried Dean Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester, dean winchester x reader - Freeform, dean/you - Freeform, reader has a temper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straycatsareblack/pseuds/Straycatsareblack
Summary: Life of the Reader have been kind of arsh. Now, she'll be sharing the bunker for a while, under Sam's and Dean's protection. At one point, mistakes are done...and she doesn't seems to care.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers of mental illness, almost non-con. French canadian writer, mistakes may occurs. Thanks for kudos and comments!

" What exactly the fuck is that? ”

The little rectangle lands up on your stomach. Caught off guard, you lay down your book before taking the plastic piece between your fingers. An exasperated sigh escapes your lips and you tip your head over the armrest of the couch to face an upside-down upset Dean, arms folded on his chest and eyebrows a little too close from his flaming green eyes.

" Those are my birth control pills, " you answer before checking again. " Outdated ones," you specify. "Hitting the trash can for the kicks now, Dean? Really? "

                Your tone is annoyed, but that's nothing compared to his outraged look. Slowly, he kneels, his face getting closer to yours, his fingers pointing the object he just throwed you.

" That's right, princess. Because we wouldn't get out our own trash, would we? "

Hearing that, you scoff and redress yourself, escaping from his threatening proximity.

"Sorry, Daddy, " you snide as you shrug, then show him your dancing fingers, "ugly trash isn't for princess's hands. "

                Shaking his head in disapproval, the hunter walks straight to sit in front of you, right on the coffee table. With a sudden move of the hand, he seizes the pills and shows you it bubbly side.

" There still some left, " he says, trying to hold back his tone. " Exactly eight in a row and three others here and there."

You grin, amused by his dramatic tone. People always assumes Sam is the Drama queen one, but living with the hunters taught you that the eldest Winchester can become that too-much primadonna girl in a snap when things get serious. But for you, that ain't. Whit a smirk, you cross your arms on your chest.

"Ooh, I forgot to take some. Big deal, " you roll your eyes. "Remember that case in Ohio? Forgot my pills in my nightstand. It's not my usual, if that's what concerns you, " you snort, making a move to stand up.

                Dean just slightly pushes your hip with his free hand, which result on you falling back on the couch. Again, he shows you the pills.

" We had sex on that week, " he reminds you. "A lot."

" Come on! ", you retorted. " You weren't complaining then. Ohio is boring."

" I thought we were safe. "

                Into the new silence, words come slowly across your mind. You aren't even near dumb : the guy is thinking you are knocked up. With his. A powerful laugh escapes your lips as your eyes gets watery. With a pitiful look to him, you calm yourself and shake your head.

" Poor, poor Dean. Relax, dude," you reassure him, petting his knee with your hand. "I'm not pregnant. Back to old horror-movie life, now, shall we? Enough with the ckick flick. "

                This time, you stand up and attempt to leave, but he grabs your wrist with his hand. His worried eyes meet yours and you suddenly feel…weird. You hate this feeling. Like you are smaller then him. You try to free yourself, but he holds back.

" Are you sure? ", his concerned tone getting on your nerve.

" I've had my period, " you confirm.

"When? " He won't let go, will he?

" I don't know, two, three weeks ago? Recently enough."

                Doubtfully, Dean nods, an eyebrow raised in his sceptical face. Raising a finger to tell you to wait, he digs inside his jacket and takes out a long, thin box. You immediately recognise a pregnancy test. Color flushes your skin and you jolt your hand back. How dare he? Jaw clenched, you are ready to jump on his face.

" I'm not pissing on that! ", you warn. " I told you, I'm not pregnant."

" There is only one way to be sure, " he argues as standing up. " Would you try to act like an adult for once? "

                He's pissed, so are you. All of this begins to get on your nerve. Like being you, that kinda-monster-thing that can be bleed out to open other dimensions isn't enough, like being hold here, in that shitty bunker, for your well-said protection is a fucking party, like having only those PTSD hunters to talk to is a sinecure…how now you have to deal with that? And now, that man is trying to tell you what you should do? Everything inside you is calling enough.

" I'm not the childish one," you snort, posing your hands on your hips. Anyway, we couldn't have conceived."

" How come? ", Dean asks with a puzzled expression.

" That's not enough to put the P in the V, genius. There's also a question of timing. But you must had succeeded at least one biology class in your life to know that, I suppose. And I guess you have to be man enough to make a baby as well. Clearly not your case. "

                Dean clenches his jaw as he steps toward you. You don't run: Dean never impressed you. You've met scarier men in your short life : you've been through more than guys trying to intimidate you. Still, when he leans to whisper in your ear, everything inside you is telling you to bolt.

" At least, " he softly hisses, his breath brushing your shoulder, "I'm not a poor little lost girl who's getting screwed by every willing boy she meets. "

                You feel it. A powerful emotion of hate and…of something else. With all your will, you push his large body off you, wrath running threw your veins, hearing him bumping the coffee table as you get the hell out of the library. A second later, you're in your room, your sanctuary, heart pumping in your chest and fury making your hands shake. You shut the door close with a single thought: what a dick! Your back leaning on your door, you try to breathe, but air get stuck in your throat as words are rolling in your head.

"Fuck you", you say for yourself. But when you slide to the floor to curl on yourself, you have nobody to lie to anymore, and tears starts rolling down your cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignore a problem and it will bitch slap you back. But maybe reader is a better slap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, read the tags. Beginner writer, frenchy one, so comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy! Oh, and I've had few problems with the verbs : it come back to present middle-fic, so please read until that point. Thanks!

                It all has started an insidious way. One night where Dean was still ignoring you, Sam was doing research about a case mixing vampire and werewolf. Your own involvement would have been to netflix _Underworld_ and press play, but both the hunters had let you know that was pointless. Bored to your bones, you had decided to go to bed, and boom.

                Your bedsheets were stinking. A strange mix of mold and sugar, a sickening disturbing smell that was threatening your stomach to playback supper scene. A nose into your closet had warned you that your folded ones were affected by the same phenomenon. In fact, every single clothes of yours were stinking like death. Trying not to puke, you had stuffed everything in a basket and had headed to the laundry room , only to understand in the process that the smell was coming from the fabric softener. Now, you remember that it should have been a sign, that you had never had any problem with French vanilla before. That night, you slept in your clothes, on a sheets free mattress. The next day, you had bought _fresh laundry_ scent softener. Case was closed.

                Then, the boys left for New-York, still on that werewolf-vampire war case, and things began to go south. That is the moment where you've had stopped eating. It wasn't like you were holding yourself : the only idea of putting anything – _anything –_ in your mouth was driving you right in dizzy mode. Even then, if a piece of veggie or cheese was passing trough the barrier of your lips, you would immediately feel full and horribly sick. Most of the days, you would sleep, waking up only to use the toilet and to shower. Food in the fridge has started to rot. You couldn't have cared less.

                Then, you had started to think you were in depression. People were making some for less then that. After all, your life sucks. Not a lot of children have been sold to a witch in exchange of a fix, to begin with...If you recall, all of your life have been rolling around escaping, foster care, kidnapping, abuse, being saved, being abandoned, and being alone. That was only that, wasn't it? Loneliness playing on your mind, and now on your body. You weren’t feeling alone – you weren’t feeling _at all_ , to be honest – but still, you were able to logically think about it.

So, one evening where you weren't feeling like a total shit, you had decided to shake yourself up and had dressed with shorty shorts, high heels and sexy make up. You had passed the bunker's door without remorse : you weren't exactly allowed to go out by yourself except for the essential, but that evening, rules weren't made for you anymore.

                You had ended up in a club, hitting the dance floor with a bunch of guys who were there to party. Some had paid you drinks that you never got a chance to touch, thanks to your weak stomach who wasn't really enjoying the night. Still, you were appreciating the change and the chat with your new buddies. One of them was particularly cute, with his footballer shape, his curly black hair and his blue eyes. After moments of slightly touching each other and mumbling nice words, you two had ended up making out in the bathroom, moaning and panting in each other ears. It was like old time, when things were simple and smooth, guys hitting on you, you jumping on them. You had liked his body against yours, his mouth on your lips, on your neck, on your cleavage. His hands were then on your butt, then on your breast, and he was obviously trying to get into your panties and you were more than okay with that.

                Until you were not anymore.

                You suddenly had realised that you were tensed against the boy. Hesitating. And words were coming back in your head. _Every willing boy_. That should have been a provocation for you, a leitmotiv to your further night business but instead it was reminding you how wrong you were now feeling about this and how bad you wanted to go home.

" Ok, I think its enough for tonight, " you had said with a light push on the guy chest. But his mouth was still on your neck, his hands roaming here and there, so you had insisted.

" Come on, stop. Please. "

"Come on," he had said himself, passing from your neck to your face, "don't be a tease."

                The room had started to spin. Feeling ill, you had tried to push him again, to escape his grip. He had held you in place by your arms : the strongest you would struggle, the hardest he would hold you back, hurting you in his way, trying to strip your breasts, to undo the button of your short, smashing you against the wall as you were fighting back. Words and screams weren't having any effect on him, and so you had freaked.

You have hit him, hard, with your knee, right in the crotch. He had made a little muffled noise before loosing his grip : you only have had a second to hide in a stall and to lock the door before you puked your two sips of water. You had heard the guy make a disgusted grunt, before leaving.

"Bitch," he had snarled.

                And here you are now. Couple of days after this, traces on your arms and on your back have changed into dark blue-ish-purple bruises. That was an easy cover though, which isn’t the case of the new extra space in your pants showing you (and anyone you could cross) that you have lost more than just a couple pounds. So, you’re going with the hoodie and pyjama pants : it’s not like you’re getting out of the bunker anyway. Boys have been gone for three weeks (you aren’t counting!) , and the fridge is stinking now, but you can't bring yourself to open the door and clean it up. Dean is gonna be really mad at you – he kinda worship this stupid bunker – but you don't give a crap. In fact, you don't give a crap about anything : your pale face, the dark rings under your eyes…except maybe for that discomfort in your lower belly. It's nothing, you are sure of that, anyway, your period is coming. It is, is it? You aren't exactly late (you're not regular enough anyway to determine at this stage if you are late or not), but something inside you starts to insinuate that something is incredibly wrong. Most of the time, you don't listen to that little voice. Anyway, most of the time, you sleep. And there you are, on your bed, under the comforter, forgetting everything about your shitty life in a dreamless sleep, until loud noises wake you up in a jump.

                You rush yourself in the direction of the noise, right to the war room, only to find some banged up Dean and Sam having a first aid moment. Blood is running through their face, dripping on the floor, and Dean is already shirtless, trying to patch a wound on his torso, as Sam is holding his arm in an odd way. When you see it, you feel the sudden need to lean on the door frame to prevent you from falling. Puke, blood, guts, you can deal with. But bones in the wrong way? That's how you're spelling too much. However, the sound of the cracky wood catches their attention.

"There she is, " says Dean as finishing his bandage. "Hope you’ve enjoyed your little…"

                He stops himself right when he lifts his head, out of words. He is more than staring at you, he is detailing you from top to bottom, obviously upset by what he sees. You try not to look down the floor, not to be ashamed, but you know that most of it is hidden and your heart is pumping faster. You’re not scared, but...you don’t like the way Dean looks at you right now. Surprised by the prolonged silence, it’s Sam’s turn to glance at you, only to show you an as-shocked expression. Of course. But nobody says anything. For a long time. You feel awkward, so you close your arms on your chest.

"Oh my God, Y/N…" blabber Sam as he kind of defrost. "What the hell…"

You are about to answer with something sarcastic, but the creak of the door make you lift the eyes.

"Ok, Sam, we're ready, " interrupt a newcomer as he go down the stairs.

                You don't know the guy, but he gives you a warm smile and a friendly look. Probably used to be around troubled people, you assume when you see the big wound on his arm, which doesn't seem to bother him. In fact, your shape doesn’t seem to bother him either. He also doesn't feel the new tension on the room, waving his hand at you, all cheery and happy.

"Hey, I'm Garth, " he says. " We are kind of coming back from a long journey. Sam here needs to go to the hospital for his arm. Can I count on you to help patching up Grumpy? "

                You don't dare throwing a look at Dean, so you just nod. Smiling a little more, if that's possible, Garth thanks you and grabs the good arm of Sam to make him follow. The hunter throws you a look that clearly means _we'll talk later_ , but finally go. You cough to clear your throat, feeling already better as Sam has left the room. As you glance at his brother, though, that feeling vanishes : the hunter is getting rid of his pants to give his attention to a profound wound on his thigh. It’s heavily bleeding and he tries hard to keep a rag on it, but struggles. With heavy breaths, his hand closes on the whiskey bottle and he gives himself a shot.

"Do you need help with that?" you suggest. You don’t really want to help – he had been an ass, remember? and, as good as you think you still are, you’re not in your best shape – but you don’t really get the thrills seeing him in pain. Plus, you’ll probably be the one to clean this mess if both of your protectors are broken.

"No,” he flatly refuses.

                You don’t know why, but you stay there in the door frame, during long minutes. Dean stays determined, for sure, but after a moment, you realise that, because of the wound on his chest, that he is struggling to get to the other one. The level of the liquor is going down at every shot he takes, and blood still bleed. Even him, at one point, understand that he won’t make it alone. He finally throws his tools on the war table, still sit on it in his gray underwear, and sighs, hands flat around his legs. You chin up when he dart his green eyes right inside yours.

"Ok," Dean declares, "I'm suggesting a truce. Won’t bite if you don’t. Deal? "

                You shrug, but still detach yourself from the doorframe to walk his way. Right next to him, you see the bandages, the tape, the scissors and the hook that hunters uses to patch profound cuts. Trying to be brave, you bring a chair between his legs and sit, avoiding eye contact, and bend a bit to examine the laceration on his thigh, afraid you'll have to stich.

" So…" you start, trying to focus on the task, "it was quite a case, huh?"

                The cut is large and deep. You grab the antiseptic bottle and soak a cotton pad with it.

" Yeah. They followed us," he tells you, "almost to the bunker. Garth helped us ambush them, then to bring them to a trap. But we kinda got trapped too. "

                You nod as you disinfect. As tough as he is, you know that Dean is trying to take deep breath, so you don't feed the conversation. Plus, to be honest, you are not totally comfortable with the situation. It's not that you are usually shy with naked men, not at all, in fact. But seeing them in full light never was something you enjoyed. Like it was too…intimate. Too real. You don't like to see the skin : during sex, you would always close your eyes. But now, you must concentrate. You take the hook, determined to do this quick and clean. When you prick him, the hunter don't even blink.

" Seems that you have quite a month yourself," he comments as you stich up the skin.

"Uh uh," you nod, eyes on your work.

"Son of a bitch!", he suddenly whisper with a harsh tone.

                You're afraid you might have hurt him, but the hunter slides a finger into your shirt collar to lift it up, uncovering the back of your neck and the beginning of your upper back. When you have bent to see his wound, you probably revealed your own. As he discovers the extent of the damage, you can hear him gasp.

"For fuck sake, what the hell?" he yells.

"I fell, " you attempt to explain.

                A finger under your chin helps you meet a _stop with the crap_ gaze. You shake your face off with a groan.

 " I said I fell," you repeat firmly, before getting back to the task. "For a guy who tried to rape me. At this point, he is probably more in pain than I am. Now stay still and let me finish that, so we both can go back to ignoring each other. All right?"

“No, this isn’t all right at all.”

                Your explanation shut him up for a moment, but the under glances that you give him informs you that Dean's eyes are glued on your bruises. You continue with your task, applying the bandage.

" We don’t have to ignore each other anymore," he says as you secure the bandages with tape. "You know I'm sorry for what I said."

" I bet you are," you loudly doubt.

"Y/N…"

"It seems you were right, though."

"Don’t say that. "

                His tone is concerned. Eyes on your work, you let the tape hanging while taking the scissors.

"You really don’t look well, " he starts back. "You’ve been puking, lately, haven’t you?”

"None of your business. "

Dean sigh is powerful and deep. He’s getting upset, you know that. Blood is pulsing through the white cloth you just put on. With care, you peel it.

"Stay still, " you warn, "or you’ll bleed on me. "

"Y/N, you cannot play that game..."

"What game? ", you ask as cutting the tape.

                With strong hands, Dean seizes both of your shoulder. It sting, mostly because he touches your bruises, but it’s not enough to make you look at him.

"Listen, " he says, "you can ignore me, but you can’t ignore this. “ He shakes you a little, so you raise your head : the man fronting you is worried and angry. " You may like to fuck up your life, but I won’t let you fuck mine with your bad decisions. "

                You give him your best face, the one that had you expelled of most of your foster care families.

"You were the bad decision, Dean. So you’re the one who sucks in your life. Welcome to mine. "

With a smirk, you lift the head, throwing your supplies on the table.

"All done, champ. You did great."

" I know I can be a jerk but you can be a nasty bitch as well, " he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, no, Dean, don’t thank me, it’s too much. "

                You push on the table to roll a little out and stand up, quickly imitated by the hunter.

" This conversation isn't over," he yells you as you leave the room.

                As all answer, a powerful finger raises up in the air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to talk with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments are appreciated!

You simply ignore the repetition of light knocks on your door.

" Come on, Y/N " the muffled voice of Sam coming through the wood panel. "Open it, please."

                Irritated, you roll into your sheets and says nothing, something pointy stinging inside your stomach. Dean, you can manage. But there is no way you can defy Sam the same way. He's just so nice and calm, so peaceful, and he does this thing, only with words…he soothes you, each time, it gets impossible to tell him just to fuck off. And now, you want him to. You don't want to be anywhere near his kind and good-natured ass. Because the walls are thin.

                And the brothers have been talking.

                You've heard them, when Sam got back from the hospital. Sure, they were whispering – as long as Dean could bring himself to – but you heard anyway, and his weren't very nice words. You've heard him talking about how you've trashed the bunker, how mean and stubborn you were. How he couldn't bear having you around anymore.

" She's hurting," Sam had plead in your favor, but it wasn't enough to calm Dean's heat.

"Not as much as she will when I'll be done with her," Dean had scolded before spitting "something happened in Ohio. "

                You had overlooked the rest of the conversation, words struggling to get through the cover of the comforter over your head. What that asshole had to tell about you, you wouldn't bother to listen. And yet, knowing that he would reveal what he thinks of you, how a little horny irresponsible whore you were, is…it is getting to you. In a very wrong, itchy way.

"Y/N, I'm gonna come in," warns Sam.

                The sound of the metallic doorknob rolling has you sit in your bed in a more appropriate position. Head against the headboard, looking away, you hear as Sam is taking a chair from your desk and bringing it near you. Without saying a word, he straddles it and wait in silence, just there, for you to reach for. You don't want to. You want him gone. God, you just want to curl back and reach _nothing land_ again. You're good there, warm, not in pain anymore. Every eye opening is a hard moment now, so you long way prefer your little escape moments, which seems to get easier and easier to hit. Whenever you lay in your bed, sleep swallows you so deep that you're even surprised to wake up. However, Sam won't let you, and you know that. He will stay there, dangerously considerate, until you give him something comforting, something to reassure himself with. So, and still with attitude, you turn you head toward him.

                His worried face hit you hard. You can tell he is drained by his last fight : his features are drawn and he isn't exactly sitting straight, kind of awkwardly tilted on his left. Additionally, his right arm, hidden by a heavy cast, lay in a soft blue sling. His free hand is gripped around a water bottle.

"How's the arm?", you ask without thinking.

"Broken," he answers with a small grin, handing you the water. "How are you? "

You shrug and make yourself full smile as you take it and uncork it.

"Peachy."

Sam shakes his head, his long brown hair brushing his face in the way. His good arm laid on the backrest of the wooden chair, he leans slightly toward you.

"I don't think it's true, Y/N."

                His tone is soft, but firm. He won't rush you, but he won't take any bullshit either. You roll your eyes.

"Don't be so dramatic…", you grimace before taking a sip.

                Sam don't answer right away. He considers you for a moment, in a way that makes you want to look down to your feet. He takes his time, somewhere deciding what will be his next word. A dizzy feeling starts to creep inside of you, but you ignore it. You're so thirsty…

"I'm really concerned, Y/N," the big man confesses. "What is happening to you worries me and I want to be here for you. I know you're still recovering from some…" he stops there, glancing for your reaction, but you don't show any, "…from some traumatic events, and that you have your ways of dealing with that. It's okay, I understand, and I swear I want to give you some space, but... "

"Yeah, that's the way to do so…"

"Being here for you also mean that I won't leave you in pain if I think you are." He waits a second and scratches the back of his neck. "I'd be lying if I'd say I haven't noticed that you've lost a fair amount of weight lately. I've talked with Dean. When he told me you hadn't touch the food in the fridge, I thought that you had preferred to order some take-out or whatever instead. But the trashcan was empty. No box, no bag, no plastic fold, nothing. Sounds like you just stopped eating. I wonder why. "

He is looking at you right now and your face is practically burning, but you refuse to look him back. The dizzy feeling is spreading, you try to ease it up by putting the water bottle against your forehead.

"I suppose you know it's not the only thing Dean have talked to me about," he guesses.

"Can you suppose that it's none of your concerns?", you shout.

"It is, 'cause I care about you."

                Again, with the so-calm tone…You bring the bottle to your lips. It's always so hot, in the bunker…the same air must be roaming around since the fifties. Everything is spinning around, you just want to lay back again.

" Get out of my room, " you try.

"I won't," Sam informs you very firmly. " Me leaving you alone is out of the question." He drums a bit on the wood of the chair. "So, here are your options, " he says as taking out from his sling the pregnancy test, " you're gonna do this. There is no option here. I know you're afraid, and probably confused, but hiding isn't a way of coping."

"I'm not pregnant," you argue in a light blow.

"Then the test will come back negative and we'll seek together for other causes for how you feel right now, " he reassures you. "So, options : I can let you do it alone or I can wait for the result with you, but in any case I'll want to see it when it's done. Is that okay with you? "

                You lightly smile, in your ironic-bitchy way.

"You know I get to pee on that stick, right?"

                His time to give you the grin.

"Why do you think I brought water?"

                You share a friendly look, but you suddenly feel like your heart is crushing in your chest. Your dizziness doesn't help : you know your voice is going to shake when you'll speak.

"I…" you attempt, feeling it crack in your throat, "I don't…Dean…"

"Dean went out on a supply run," he cuts it out. "Let's deal with this first."

                Saying that, he stands up and gives you a strong hand to help you on your feet. That move gives you a solid spin and you grab his arm to straighten you up. If he sees how bad you are feeling when you grip his sleeve to secure yourself, he doesn't show. Or he must think it's anxiety, or some shit like that. He walks you to the bathroom, handing you the test at the door.

"I'll wait for you here," he says, looking right in your eyes. "No games, no water on the stick, okay? I trust you. "

                You nod. In fact, you hadn't thought of that, and that could have been an option, except one thing: Sam is right. When you enter the stall, you realise you are too tired of this lingering in front of you. Somewhere, somehow, after all, you already know the answer. And even if it ices you from the inside when you think about it, you'll have to face it one day or another. Better have Sam on your side for that.

                It takes you a long time, enough to make Sam knocks a couple of time. When was the last time you peed anyway? Your memories of the past day are getting fuzzy. When you succeed to proceed, the smell goes right to your guts. You just have time to put the stick on the bathroom counter before the burning feeling rushes up in your throat. You run back into the bathroom stall to throw up all gulps of water you may have had, what makes Sam scramble, looking for you. Curled on the bowl, you raise a hand.

" I'm okay," you say between two gags, tears in your eyes.

"I'm here," he just answers, then sit beside you as you empty your stomach. When you finally sit next to him on the white tiles, you're light headed and black spots are dancing in front of your eyes. Sam takes your hand and strokes it softly. You stay there fore a couple of minutes, in silence. That's strange, but you're more relaxed: maybe it's the fact that the test is done, maybe it's because of Sam too. Or maybe it's because of that darkness you feel, closing it claws around you, slowly pulling you back, claiming you, even if you're not in your bed…

                After a minute, Sam gazes for the test on the counter. He squeezes your hand a bit and your eyes meet his.

"Do you want me to look at it for you?"

                You open your mouth but realises you don't know what to say, so you nod. Slowly. Sam nods back and stands, letting your hand go at the last moment. When he takes the test, the answer flashes on his face, only for a second, but you catch it. Even if he tries to compose himself, you know.

"Well…" he sights, "we'll have to talk to Dean. I'm sorry, Y/N."

                You stay still, but everything starts to shiver inside. A big chill run trough your veins right to your belly. Nothing comes to your mind, you're totally muted, incapable to speak. In a second, Sam is next to you. You haven't realised it, but your lips are shaking.

"It's gonna be okay, I swear," he soothes you, petting your hairs. " It's okay, you're okay…I'm right here."

"I…I want to go back to my room."

                It's the only thing you mind can stick on. Your room, your bed. Safe place. Luckily, Sam understand that and quickly escorts you. When he opens your door, you can't help but to crash on your blankets.

"Don't worry about Dean," he slips you as you fade out, "we'll tell him together. I'll wake you when he gets back. We'll find a solution. "

                You don't even feel when he tucks you, already far gone. Everything inside you just shut down : your heart, first, slows down, then your breathing….then you can't feel anything. You even forget your own existence. You know, somewhere inside, that you are going too far. You should wake up and shout for help, but you let yourself sink down, further and further…You had forgot the way back, hadn't you? At one point, you'll be stuck at the bottom of yourself. Who would be able to find you there?

                But surprisingly, something catches you. Nothing clear, exactly. Only a muffled, distracting sound. Like a hook, it drags you on a lightly clearer path, very, very slowly. A tingling feeling suddenly disturbs your mind too. Is that words? Is someone talking to you?

"DEAN!", Sam screams at the top of his lungs.

                The bottom of his voice sounds a bit rocky. It's not that clear yet, but yes, you hear him. The tingling feeling hits back : you're sure he's touching your face, but you don't really feel it. You should open your eyes and yell at him, tell him to get the hell off you, but you can't. You're not able to open your eyes.

                Sam tries to rub your face with his good hand, to bring you to open your eyes, to make you speak to him. He is panting in panic, full of his stupidity to had left you alone. He slightly slaps you, tries to shake you up, but you remain lifeless in front of him.

"Come on, Y/N, " he says to you, "open those beautiful eyes for me, come on. DEAN! ", he ends up yelling again.

"What the…"

                In a second, Dean rushes himself next to you. His heart is pounding when he grabs your wrist, checking for a pulse. You're so pale, he didn't event think of asking his brother. A reassured sigh escapes him when he feels the light pulse as it hits his fingers.

" She barely breathes," informs Sam.

                Without thinking, Dean reaches your collarbone and pinches the hardest he can. That has a striking effect : like you're getting out of the water, light invades you. You want to scream as the sharp pain hits you, but only a light moan slips from your lips. Your eyelids hardly crack, just enough to see Dean's face, just above yours.

"Alright, good girl," he tells you before diving into his pocket to get his key, handing it to his brother. " Get her bag, start the car," he commands, before rolling you in your blankets as Sam runs out. "It's okay, I got you."

                He lifts you in his arms like you're made of sweet air. The feeling shakes you just enough for you to reach his face with your hand. You lightly brush his beardy cheek with your fingers, what catches his attention. He downs the eyes to look at you as you try to lift the head, but you can't : you just rest it on his shoulder.

"Don't…" you whisper with an atone voice as your eyes are closing, "…not the hospital."

                Spontaneously, his expression closes off and he stiffens around you.

"I'm not letting your stupid stubborn ass die here," he growls between his teeth as you leave the room. "Not under my shift. Now hold on and stay awake! "

                But you can't.  For the whole car ride, you balance between consciousness and nothingness, muttering words that makes no sense, your head on Sam's laps while Dean is burning reds. After he turns into the parking lot, he looses no time : car door just flies open and he grabs you up again, running straight to the sliding glass doors, Sam on his steps. As they get at the emergency reception desk, Sam catches the eye of a white coat woman, who quickly understand the situation.

" I need a stretcher," she directs before rushing herself toward you, a pen-light in hand. "What's her name?", she asks as checking your pupils while you are still in Dean's arms.

"Y/N," he answers, when an employee slides a stretcher before him. Two nurses take place next to you as the doctor pinches you again. That time, you barely react. Deans drops you cautiously, caring for your head.

"Okay, Y/N," the doctor says, "can you open your eyes for me? Can you squeeze my hand? Jolene," she asks one of the nurses," can we get her a bit of oxygen? Her breathing is inefficient."

                Jolene nods and rolls you to what appears to be an emergency station. Fast, she sets a mask on your face, then start to work to secure an I.V ; the other nurse starts to cut on your clothes. Sam makes a step towards you, his heart crushed by guilt, but the doctor holds him back, putting an authoritative hand on his chest.

"Is she gonna be okay?", he asks.

"We are gonna take care of her, but you have to let us work," the woman specifies. "Now, are you family?"

"Yes," both brothers answer without thinking.

"Okay. Is Y/N taking any medicine or is she allergic to some?"

"No," Sam answers.

"Alright. Does she have any chronic illness or is she treated for anything right now?"

"No," Sam tells again.

"Has she hit her head or been into a situation where she could have?"

                That time, the hunter doesn't answer, swallowed by the vision of the needle finally stuck in your arm and by all the machines they're rolling in your direction. Dean bites his lips and shakes his head.

"Not that I know off," he answers.

"That's good," the doctor reassures him, noting the info on her notepad. Now, is there anything else that I should be aware of? Any condition, anything? "

                Again, Dean shakes his head.

"I don't think so. "

"Okay," conclude the doctor, "I need you to go to the family room now, I'm going to keep you…"

"She's pregnant," Sam cuts her off, before turning his decomposed face toward his brother to meet his frozen figures. "She's pregnant, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth have been told now. Brothers may react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Milka727 for the comment, and for all the kudos! So, five chapters may not be enough, so I may have to write an additionnal chapter to close the story properly, As always, thanks for your support.

The heavy and angry steps of Dean resonates in the family room. Sam hardly has time to shut the door before his brother slams a chair out of his sight and leave his white knuckles to rest on the table. Sam stays back, knowing that Dean won't take any word he must say before he has calm his nerves. But the hunter isn't calming down.

"How long Sammy?", he asks harshly.

"How long what?"

"How long did you know she was knocked up?", Dean storms, "how long have you two been hiding it from me?"

                Sam sighs and passes his fingers in his hairs.

"A couple of hours, maybe? It's not like I had any time to make otherwise, Dean. We were planning on telling you, and we were about to when I've found her. So I'm sorry about the way you've learned it but I had no other choice. "

"You sure as hell can be sorry about that."

                Looking exhausted, Dean just drops on a chair, grabs his nose bridge within his fingers and closes his eyes. On the other side of the table, Sam does the same and leans his head on his good hand, resting his cast on the arm of the chair.

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean finally says, eyes still closed. "That girl is trouble."

"I know," Sam honestly answers, "but she is our responsibility. Plus, she ain't that bad."

"She ain't? She told me that I wasn't man enough to put a pea in her pod. "

                Hearing that, Sam chuckles. A grin lightens his face.

"She does have a foul mouth," he gives him.

                Dean stays silent for a second, eyes lost in nowhere, chewing his lower lip in a bewildered expression.

"She also told me that it wasn't the right timing," he ponders out loud. "That she couldn't be pregnant."

"Well, she is."

"But maybe not with mine."

                Sam frowns, leaning over the table.

"And you really believe that? ", he huffs.

"I don't know what to believe," Dean admits as redressing himself. "I mean, Y/N isn't the purest kind of girl, you know how she behaves around guys."

                Sam mouth stays shut in an angry manner for a moment : his brother sighs and rubs his forehead.

"Look, man, I know she's your friend and all…" starts Dean.

"Wanna know what _I_ think?", Sam cuts. "I think you're seeking for an easy way out. Y/N may be damaged, but you treating her as a…a _slut_ , is beneath you. "

"I didn't…"

"She's on a hospital bed," Sam cuts again. "Sick with we don't know what yet, probably scared and confused to her bones. So let's assume you're right and the kid's not yours. What do you suggest? Let her deal with her problems? "

                Dean wants to answer something, but the door swings open. Both brothers stand up to welcome the doctor, who's looking into a file as she walks in.

"Good evening, Sirs," she says without looking at them.

"How is she?", Sam asks nervously.

"Well," the doctor says as lifting her gaze to meet the hunters', " we just took her to the fourth floor, to our obstetric service. She was conscious, so we didn't intubate her."

" Is she okay?", Sam asks again.

"She is stable now."

                 The sigh Sam pushes in relief is deep and heavy. Dean nods, also reassured.

"So, " he says, " what happened?"

"Y/N has hyperemesis gravidarum, an acute version of morning sickness," the woman explains as closing her file. " She was highly dehydrated and had a panel of nutrient deficiencies : her potassium was especially low, which could have caused her confusion and lost of consciousness, even breathing and cardiac events.  We gave her a shot of that, plus vitamins, and we are now pumping her with fluids : she's feeling better and is resting, right now. She's still gagging on water and ice, though, so we're gonna give her some antiemetic on the next hour, to control the vomiting."

"Ok," acknowledges Sam, more for himself. "That's good. And…and the baby?"

" The baby is ok. "

                Hearing that, Dean bites his lips and folds arms on his chest.

" What's next?" Sam asks.

"Well…maybe we should sit to discuss about it."

                Brothers exchange a puzzled look before slowly taking back place around the table. The doctor readjusts her coat before sitting down. She seems a bit uncomfortable.

"Is one of you the father of the baby?"

                Sam deadly stares at Dean, who shakes his head, visibly unsure.

"I could be," he admits. "We weren't exactly exclusive."

"Okay," the doctor nods. "Y/N is bruised in some parts of her body that can be related to domestic violence. Do you know something about that?"

"We weren't here for the past three weeks, I can prove it," Sam explains, knowing where this conversation is going. "We didn't harm her."

"She got herself on some bar situation," Dean mumbles.

                As she listens, the doctor pushes her glasses on her nose.

"I understand," she says. "And you've said you're family?"

"We're the only family she has," Sam specifies. "She was foster cared?"

"I see. "

                The woman crosses her fingers on the table and reaches right for Dean eyes.

" Y/N is about 10 weeks pregnant, now. She didn't subscribe or took any appointment to an obgyn clinic. She also didn't seek for help when she started experiencing problems with her pregnancy. However, I doubt she's been aware of her condition for a long time. "

                Dean nods and lift an eyebrow in disappointment.

"She also appears to experience some auto-destructive behavior, like having unprotected sex with multiple partners and engaging in violent events. Pregnancy is a tough journey and she is going to need help if she decides to carry on with it. "

"Are you suggesting abortion?"

                Sam's head lifts as he's asking. The doctor shakes her head.

"No, Sir," she explains. "I'm saying that this pregnancy will have to be managed with care. Now, hyperemesis gravidarum could fade with time, but I doubt it : it's and extreme version of it, and there isn't so much we can do about it. Y/N is also gonna need moral, physical and probably financial support, due to her incapacity to work right now. What I need you to do right now is to decide if you want to provide that help to Y/N."

"And if we don't?", wonders Dean.

"If you don't," the doctor clarifies, "I'll have to warn social services, and I'll recommend a proper supervision, in best interest of the mother and child. "

                A silence drops on the room as Sam stares roughly again at his brother, who clicks his tongue before turning his eyes toward the doctor.

"That won't be necessary," he articulates, kind of sluggishly.

"Alright," the doctor says. " We'll keep her, probably for a few days, until she can keep any food. She's also scheduled for an ultrasound and we'll run some tests as well, and of course she'll have counselling about her pregnancy until her decision is taken. When time will come, you'll have some paperwork to sign. "

"Thank you, " says Sam as the doctor stands up. Can we see her?"

"She's asleep, as I said earlier, but yes. Of course."

                She hesitates for a second.

" I must say," she slowly says, "Y/N seems pretty…detached…from what happening to her physically and emotionally. She's probably defending herself from suffering by trying to not feel at all. Counsellor might help her with that, but you'll have to make her connect with herself, or she might encounter some issues with the baby…or with herself, depending on the decision she'll make. In any case, she shouldn't be left alone. "

                Both brothers understand very well what the doctor is implying as she leaves the room. Minutes later, they are passing trough the obstetric floor. That's weird for more than one reasons : women with round bellies are walking the hallways, rolling their IV or rocking their work in progress. Nurses are speaking low, reassuring, to visibly suffering patients. A weird guy is mopping in a corner. Some proud new dad are carrying pink or blue blankets, with fussing bags wrapped in it. And there, at the bottom of the service, they see the _High-risk pregnancies_ sign, and your room is the first to the left.

                Sam enters the room and the vision he has of you tears his heart out. He steps nearer and takes your cold hand in his, but you don't move : you're profoundly asleep. He is stunned by how tiny you look in that big hospital bed they put you in :  you who are usually stronger than life, you lie there, motionless, lying in your long hair, one hand on your heart, the other close to your head. You look a lot more of Sleeping beauty than Gossip girl. Sam takes a second to just convince himself that you'll be ok.

"I'll take the first shift," Dean says. He has taken off his leather coat and is about to sit on a blue rocking chair. After a last caring look on your rested face, Sam walks toward him and takes the keys from his hands.  

"Don't wake her up", warns Sam with a mean face.

"I won't."

 Lifting his eyebrows in disapproval, the younger brother leaves, leaving Dean alone in your room. He stays there a moment, lost in his mind. Usually, he would crash on that chair and fall asleep in the second, but for some reason, he just can't. Something about you is completely capsizing him. Something about that fragile aura around you, a side of yours he hasn't got to see, yet.

Reluctantly, he walks towards you. It smells like antiseptic, here, and that's an insult to the delicacy of your features. He's been so used to your rough traits that he has forgot that softness, in the contour of your cheeks, in the pulpiness of your red lips. Are you really ok, beneath that peaceful front? Without realizing it, he gently takes your hand as well, feeling the silk of your palm against his calloused. Like in slow motion, he bends over and lightly kisses you on the forehead.

                "You scared the shit out of me, you know that?", he whispers to you ear.

                You slightly change of position, showing that your sleep isn't that deep anymore. Dean startles, like he just got caught red-handed, and step back from your bed. After some shifting, your breathing take back that slow, regular pace and the hunter allow himself to breathe out. He slowly walks back to the rocking chair and sit down, resolve to gain some hours of sleep. With a strong determination, he presses the lever to jack his feet and recline. Eyes closes, he tries. Oh, yes, he tries. He rolls from one side to the other, trying to slide into his dreamy rest, but seems not to be able to.  Something bothering him.

                "What is that noise?" he suddenly asks himself.

                It's very low, kind of flowy and watery. The hunter hasn't paid attention before, but now that his mind is totally clear, this noise is overwhelming. Dean stands up and glances around you : you are plugged on so many machines, all showing info about your current state, but the only unusual sensors are going under your hospital gown. Flabbergasted as he understands what that noise is, Dean turns the eyes toward the right monitor and hit the volume button. The powerful slushy sound invades the room : underneath it , an obstinate and fast beat spreads out in the air.  The man takes a time, simply listening to that beat, kind of taken aback.

                "Is that real enough for you, Dean? "

                Sam is leaning on the door frame, two warm coffees in hand. He couldn't make himself to go home before you wake up, and he couldn't leave Dean alone either. Obviously, he was right. A bit shaken, Dean looks down to you, then lower the volume of the machine.

                "That doesn't prove anything, Sammy," he says with a hoarse voice.

                Sam shrugs.

                "Maybe faith will have to do for today."

                Sam hands the cup to his brother and, even if Dean doesn't verbally agree, they share a coffee, keeping you safe as you sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments. I don't answer because I don't want to reveal anything, but I really like that you are interrested enough by the story to write me a little something on what you think about it. I hope you'll all enjoy this. Comments and kudos are appreciated, as always.

                As Sam passes trough the obstetric floor, he crosses your outraged counsellor, eyes popping out of his bald cranium and crooked glasses on his nose. He'd met the professional a couple of time, even spoke with him as a friend of Y/N when the guy struggle to bound with her and tried to win his place inside her thoughts, though the look on his face seems to reveal he haven't succeeded.

                "Bad day?", Sam asks with a cornered smile.

                "She's in a devil mood, today. Watch out," the counsellor warns him without slowing his pace.

                Sam chuckles and hurries a little toward your room. _The devil is less_ scary, he thinks before lightly knock on the door frame. It's only to be polite : it's wide open on your pouting face. You're sat on your bed, wearing a lavender pyjama a tad big for you that Sam had brought you after that first night in the hospital, something comfy and silky that changes from those sexy outfits you are use to put on. Fronting a bed plate, you are stirring with energy a chocolate pudding, lost in your angry mind and still grumbling about your last visitor. However, when you see Sam, your look softens a bit.

                "Hey,"he tells you. "Is this a bad moment?"

                "Exact right moment," you correct him. "I was about to bite the next nurse who comes in. They're lucky you came in first."

                "You should be sweet with the nurses," he tries to resonate you as he sits down on the chair next to your bed, which squeak a bit under the giant. "They're only doing their job."

"Says the man who escaped a thousand times from hospital," she grins, then add in a lower voice " you know that they can be fired for losing a patient?"

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

You take a half-bite of your pudding. Again, pudding. All days are liquids, soup, pudding and oatmeal. For two days, now, you haven't been puking, they could at least bring you something meaty. Damn, your so hungry now, you could just eat the whole cow. But no : they're planning on keeping you alive on apple juice.

"Any news about your discharge?", Sam asks.

This time, you fully smile.

"24 hours from now, and I'll be out. I'll still have to come back in a couple of days for…you know."

You stare down at your pudding, tracing dark paths in the brown cream. Sam, caring, gets nearer you, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Is that what you hassled your counsellor about?" he asks.

"That dumb short-minded shmuck was lecturing me about my lack of judgement and my poor life choices. Gosh, the jerk was trying to _force_ me into adoption. You know that, by Kansas laws, he must try to convince me? I mean, whatever it takes? "

You huff as you remember the dubious words of the man with the glossy forehead. Sam pets your shoulder with a large, comforting hand.

"We made that clear that the choice is yours," he reassures you.

His tone feels odd, though. And he's not looking at you while  he says so. Now you are totally disinterested in your dessert. Leaving it apart, you give a look to the big tall man sitting next to you, like you would do to a stranger, annoyed and angry by what is upcoming. You cross your arms on your chest and lift a scornful eyebrow.

"Go on," you command in a hard tone. "Speak." 

Sam shifts on his chair, uncomfortable. He wanted to talk for a while now, hell since he had thrown an eye on that pregnancy test. He knows it's not the right moment (you're already moody and steaming like a volcano and he hasn't said a word yet), but, in fact, it's never the right moment. You're always near a crisis, sick, unconscious, mad at something…yet he would really enjoy chatting with you about those subjects you won't talk about. He is stuck in his dilemma: losing your trust by betraying the silence, or taking a chance to avoid you a mistake you may regret. Although he can't act anymore like he doesn't know a thing, can he?

"Okay," he starts, "I'm gonna tell you what's on my mind, but only if you answer my question first."

"Bring it."

"Why don't you want to keep this baby?"

Unconsciously, you bring your legs together against your chest, making the blanket slides at the bottom of the bed. You give your friend a fade smile, full of sarcasm, but with something hurtful in it.

"I told you the story, Sam."

"Not really, Y/N," Sam argues. "You told me about the gene, but you also told me that your brother didn't had it, right?"

"Right. That wonderful gene that transforms your blood into whenever wherever is recessive. But there is no way to be sure, Sam. There is no exam that can confirms that baby won't be used as an interdimensional well."

"Okay, so, maybe that kid will have the gene, " Sam summarizes. "What then? Why would his life be so horrible? Not worth living it? "

"Oh, come on, stop with your pro-life crap. Get out of my room."

"No. "

You know he won't : he never obliges when you are trying to push him away. Even if he is sweet and tempered, Sam is as stubborn as you are, if not more. Furthermore, he knows that's how you react each time you are near to feel something and that's exactly what he wants. He don't want to provoke you, though: like when he plays FBI, the hunter knows for a fact that only patience will pay back.

"Okay," he says, trying to change the angle. "What about Dean, then? "

"What about him?" You roll eyes, that's a so much heard tune. "As my so-good counsellor recalled me, I'm a slut, remember? He's not the father. "

A powerful grunt surprises you and you look at Sam as he strongly shakes his head to show his disagreement. His eyes lights up in fire : it's the first time since you've met him that he seems that affected by your words. He looks even bigger when he is angry, all tensed on his chair, really near your bed.

"What happened to our bullshit code? Not lying to each other?", he accuses as he frowns.

"What do you mean? "

Revelation time, Sam thinks.

"I was the one buying you condoms, Y/N," he scowls. "I don't know how many boxes…I lost the count. I'm also the one who gave you those lifts to get you tested and to buy your birth control pills. You were not only safe, you were a damn control freak about your sex life. You wouldn't have risk it on some stupid one-night stand."

He's kind of proud of what he thinks he knows. You lean a bit further in his direction.

"You want to know the names, Sammy?", you blow in a nasty tone. "'Cause I don't remember all of them. There was at least three on the week before Ohio, and two after, and that's the short count. Condoms cracks, you know."

"Don't call me Sammy."

He clenches his jaw as your take your knees in your arms. That feeling is climbing again inside you, that feeling you can't describe, but that makes you tremble inside. You try to breathe slowly, to calm down, repressing this need who screams its unfulfillment. It's not the right time, you try to resonate yourself. You glance at the large chest as your friend put both of his hands on the border of your bed, making it sink in a bit : as a effect, you slightly slide toward him.  You raise the eyes : an ironic smile is painted on his lips.

"So you were. Using condoms with those guys," he underlines your last sentence. "And taking the pills."

You hesitate, but that hesitation only exacerbates his certitude. You know where this is going, and if you want things to stay the way you want them, there is only one solution : not giving a shit. So you make you face grin, even if you don't want to : you lift the chin, make your best parade.

"Yes," you drop.

"But you weren't safe with Dean. "

You sigh as you surrender. He already knows, anyway. What's the point?

"I suppose I wasn't. Not every time that week, anyway."

Putting aside the mental images of his brother sex life, Sam soften as he understands the whole meaning of what you're telling him. He stares at you with compassion, wondering with sadness how you ended up so damaged, so hurt that you can't even see it by yourself.

"Dean," he breathes to you, "he was different, was he?"

You frown.

"Not really. What do you mean?"

His glance goes down to your stomach and your eyes round up.

"I didn't plan on getting pregnant!" you almost choke.

"No," Sam agrees. "That's not what I meant. But you knew that it could happened. And you still took the risk, but only with Dean. Why? "

"I won't answer that."

"Were you seeking for his help?" he insists raising his voice, " for his attention? Hold my stare, Y/N!", he commands you as you turn the head.

"Watch it, Sam Winchester, " you snap back, " you're going too far."

"How far do I have to go to make you realise you might regret this?"

"To hell and back!"

You snort, cheeks red flushed by anger, heat running on your skin. You get on your knees on the bed, full fronting the giant, heads inches from his, and you dive your darkest gaze into his : you are damn serious.

"Listen carefully, boy," you almost threaten him, "this" you say pointing your belly, "it is not happening. I'm a bitch, not a mom."

"Can't you be both?"

You don't have time to answer that before a nurse enters your room. Without a look to your friend, you fall back on your back and shut your mouth. Frustrated, Sam doesn't say a word either as he stands up and leaves. As he make his way back across the faded white and yellow walls of the hospital, the hunter curses himself : he knows he missed his chance to break that fence of yours. For all he knows, he just reinforced it : now you won't listen to him anymore, or not in a way where he can poke around to see what works. He finally takes place in the Impala, breathing heavily, trying to find out a solution, but he's out. Understanding that, his huge palm suddenly slams the steering wheel as his frustration peaks, then a profound sigh passes the barrier of his lips. Sam takes a moment to calm down, brooding those bad perspectives, worried about what will happen to you if you take the bad decision. Coming back to reason, Sam rubs his forehead, but as he turns the keys in the starter, he is unable to get rid of the idea that he failed you.

It haunts him, all the way back to the bunker, and pressing the throttle just accelerates his trail of thoughts until he rolls into the garage. Really upset when he pushes the heavy door, his mood reaches a down when he sees Dean, lazily sat at the war table, surfing on the web and snacking over sandwich and beer.

"Hey man," Dean asks, not bothering turning his head, "they've been two odd deaths down in Milwaukee. Two teenage girls found death by strangulation and without any fingers. Weird enough for me, if you wanna know my mind, 'you game?"

Sam round the eyes in disbelief. After a brief chuckle, he gets down the stairs, takes off his jacket and just throw it down on the table.

"You're…" he says, containing himself, "just…unbelievable."

Hearing the comment, Dean lifts his eyes to meet his brother murderous stare. He leans back on his chair, caught off guard by that aggressive behavior.

"Hey Sammy, you're good? What's the matter? Y/N bit you in the ass, or what?"

"She did indeed, " Sam growls, just passing by his elder. "Oh," he hisses as he had forgot, "and that baby's yours. Congratulations," he adds as he slaps Dean shoulders hard.

Sam heads over his room, not caring that Dean is on his steps. He rushes inside and slams the door, before letting himself fall on his bed. His brown strands brush his hands as he rests his tired head, trying to ease his mind. The door creaks as it slides slowly over its hinges, making appear a concerned Dean, leaning on the frame.

"Care to explain?" he asks.

"You heard me," Sam grunts. "Don't ask how I know, but I know : that one is on you."

Hearing that, Dean chooses to stay silent. He walks slowly into the room, dragging his feet, and just sit there, on the edge of the bed, right next to his brother. Sam doesn't say a thing either, his gaze lost in the air.

"Guess I screwed-up big time, uh?", guesses Dean with a softer tone.

"That's an understatement," confirms his brother, looking discouraged. "You should see her : she's a total mess. She barely tolerate anybody around her : except for anger, she doesn't seems to even _feel_ anything. I mean, have you ever saw Y/N cry or laugh? Or even smile, in a non-ironic or mean way?"

Dean thinks for a moment. Except for that moment in that motel room, he hasn't passed a lot of time with the girl. What he knows about her, he had learned it reading the file, on the road trip to Ohio, or during those nights. As he recalls it, he figures that what his brother is saying is true : she never expressed a feeling, let alone seemed to feel one.

"Anyway," says Sam, "I thought that she was cracking a bit lately. We had a very intense moment together, when we discovered about her condition. I thought we were getting somewhere. Seems that she loaded that, and she casted me out."

"She likes you," Dean reminds him.

"Not anymore," Sam drops as he scratches the back of his head. "I messed up too. Tried to make her talk and she pressed eject. "

"Guess we're cruising the same boat."

Sam clicks his tongue as he nods. He suddenly stands up and make a couple steps in the room then grabs the dressers and lean a bit on it, trying to release some tension.

"It's not only Y/N, Dean. "

He can't face his brother saying so, but Sam just had dropped it. Maybe it's small. Maybe, for some, it's nothing. But for Sam, what is growing inside Y/N body is what they always fight for. It's family. All this nonchalance about the situation is driving him crazy. Not once, except for that first visit right after they had met the doctor, Dean had visited Y/N. Never he spoke about her, or about the baby. Whatever his reasons are, that reckless denial is more than enough. Time is flying now. If only Dean could…

"I know." 

Sam turns to face his brother, surprised by the call. He throws him a puzzled look, to which Dean answers by shrugging and showing open hands before him.

"What can I say, Sammy?", he asks. "We've talked about apple pie life before. You know we've crossed it out from life planning. "

"Y/N is nothing like apple pie," Sam points out, his back resting against the dresser.

"That's true. And that is also a problem. I never figured her as anything near motherhood."

"And how do you figure her?"

Dean feels the innuendo in the words of Sam. He lifts head to make eye contact and meets his brother bitchy face.

"Oh, come on," Sam says as he raises an eyebrow. " You obviously care about her."

"How would you know?"

"You slept with her more than twice in a year. You care."

Dean tilts the head as he hears that, an acknowledging pout on his face.

"You're not wrong," he admits.

"Come on, I know you enjoy having her around as much as I do," Sam says with a smile. "It feels good to come back to something after a hunt. It's the first time we let someone in for this long, especially a woman. I missed that."

"You missed bad music taste and cleaning after?"

Sam shows his bitch face again and folds his arms on his chest.

"More like having a conversation about something else than work. Hearing her sing on her horrible music, " Sam scoffs, "being a hero each time I grab something she can't reaches."

"Pulling hair off the shower drain, smelling nail polish in the morning, getting to watch Cinderella remakes when it's her turn to choose de movie…"

"You liked that Cinderella remakes."

"Shut up."

But Dean isn't angry all. He is smiling. Fully smiling. Yeah, he liked that movie. He also liked that Y/N fell asleep during that movie, between he and Sam, switching shoulder from time to time and both of them sharing amused looks over her head. Even though he wouldn't loudly admit it, he secretly likes things Y/N does that make their life a bit more vibrant. Those are all little things, really: finding colorful plushy blankets everywhere in the bunker because she's always cold, catching the fragrance of the candles she likes to light up when they aren't around, taking back his phone and finding out a silly-game war is open. But It's also seeing her crashed in an armchair, book in hands and glasses on her nose like a sexy nerd and noticing she haven't realised he's watching because she's so absorbed by her reading. It's looking at her from behind when she's taking her hair into a ponytail and sneak a peek at her bare and exposed neck. It's coming into the bathroom after she'd take a shower and be overwhelmed by a full feminine scented steam and imagining her naked, one second ago, very hot water slipping on her body. Okay, each time, Dean would walk into some water puddle. Still.

"You realise that, if we walk down this path, this will become a permanent thing," Dean warns.

Sam nods.

"In fact, I'm looking forward to it."

"And you know we'll worry _every damn day_ about her and the kid. And that we'll want to do _anything_ to protect them, ever if it's against the rules. "

"I know, Dean."

"And that it's unfair to put her and the kid in such a great danger?", Dean continues to ask with a more intense, concerned look. "That we'll struggle to keep them safe, and that they wont always want us to? That some day, she may want to leave? That she may die, because of us?"

"Oh."

Dean suddenly faces the floor, aware of what Sam is about to say. He hears the sympathetic sigh of his little brother as he takes back his place on the bed, making it squeak beside him.

"That's why you were so reluctant about the situation," Sam reveals on a soft tone he isn't used to take when he speaks to his brother. "You aren't scared about moving forward with her, or about having to take care of a baby, or taking your responsability. You are scare for them, for what could happen to them."

"Hey," Dean specifies, "I haven't decided what _forward_ means with Y/N yet, so don't get your expectations too high. But yeah. People around us don't do well, Sammy."

They keep silent a second, Sam lost in his mind. That's true. People around them tend to get hurt. Dean must be thinking about all their losses, and he is right : there is plenty. However…people around them aren't really around them _ever_ when bad things happen. Plus, keeping them away to protect them haven't proved to be efficient. And, about Y/N, it wouldn't even make her any safer.

"There is no good answer," Sam says, before taking an heavy breath. "Only this time, I'd give it a shot. "

"Why?", Dean questions with a puzzled. "Why this one, precisely? Any crush you'd like to share? Time to come clean, Sammy."

Sam chuckles.

"Hell, no," he answers. "I'm no masochist. I wouldn't stand the constant bickering."

"Well, she's cute when she's mad…" Dean grins. "But then, why? "

Sam shrugs, shaking his head.

"I don't know, man. I…" he hesitates. "She doesn't trust anyone. She doesn't let anyone in."

"I beg to differ…", Dean implies.

"You know what I mean. We still don't know what happened to her. We only saw the stigmata. She probably been tortured or used in…some ways. I mean, you know how she reacts when one of us loose the shirt."

Dean bobs the head and makes a half-happy, half-sad face as an answer.

"Anyway," Sams pursues, "she seems to have all the reasons not to trust us. Still…she opens to me. At least, she did. That's enough for me for wanting to save her."

"We've already saved her, Sammy," Dean reminds his brother.

"Not enough."

Dean clears his throat before he grabs his own knees to stand up.

"Well, seems that it's my turn to take charge. Any idea? "

Sam thinks for a moment, drumming the comforter as he tries to recall anything the doctor or the counsellor said.

"Let see," he tells. "She chooses anger over any other emotion. In the face of confrontation, she will bite or flee. It's a coping mechanism."

"I can work around that," Dean says as he thinks. "Anything else?"

The hunter shakes his head, nothing coming to mind. Only the words of the doctor, again, again, again…

"Make her open," he slowly articulates before making an intense eye contact. " About anything. She needs to reconnect with herself, with her emotions. If we can only crack her shell a little, maybe it would be enough for her to…"

"Want to keep it? And what if she really doesn't want to, Sam? As far as I'm concerned, it's still her decision to make. "

"I'll respect that, nevertheless I would want to be there for her. But, in my opinion, you're a part of that decision also. Hear me well, I'm no baby fan, you know that. However, this time, it's yours…what do you want, Dean?"

 The hunter doesn't answers. Instead, he makes a couple steps toward the door, near to make his exist. As the light of the hallway draw the figures on his face, he stops and turns back to his little brother, still sit on his bed, seeming exhausted.

"She has her ways to get on my nerves," Dean says. There will be a lot of quarrels. Maybe you'll have to take side. "

Sam grins.

"Don't worry," he reassures. " I'll always take hers. "


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the reader are on for a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took long enough. I'm sorry, though I think that chapter isn't bad at all. Tell me if you agree in the commentaries. Thanks for all those of you who left kudos, and stay tuned for the big final!

A heart-rending cry serves as a welcome greeting when Dean walks out the elevator, a plastic bag and a strong black coffee in hands. The screaming doesn't make him startle but the hunter lifts a surprised eyebrow when he realises nobody seems to care. _Must be the usual,_ he thinks as he crosses the hall. As he walks, nurses smile to him, probably thinking he's the partner of a mother-to-be somewhere on the floor. _Guess I am, after all_ , he realises as he arrives to the front desk, putting down his coffee on the edge of the wood top. Sitting behind, a receptionist, a headset on her head, raises a finger to make him understand she's on the phone. As she indicates to someone how to reach the hospital, Dean glances around : he must admits, all those round bellies gives him the jitters. Not that he has cold feet (he is quite sure about what he is going to do), but those women, walking small steps between what seems to be stunning moments of pain, are making all the process so…real.

"Sorry for the delay, Sir. May I help you now?" the receptionist asks.

"Yeah," Dean says, snapping out of his thoughts, "I'm here to pick up Y/N Y/L/N.

"Don't you say!" she exclaims with a wide smile. She's kinda cute, actually, with her curly blond hair and her full painted pink lips. She seems really happy to hear the news. "We weren't sure anyone would show up : we heard she had an argument with her other friend. I'm glad to see she's so well surrounded."

                She kind of purrs the last sentence and Dean realises what she is doing. As she hands him papers to sign, she doesn't quit the pretty smile and her eyes stay glued on him, eyelashes fluttering like butterflies. He lifts his eyes a couple times, only to find hers, visibly appreciating his attention. He grins and chuckle, before handing her back the pieces of paper.

"She's really lucky to have you to take care of her," the woman comments as she signs up the papers as a witness.

"I'm the lucky one," Dean answers back, "having her carrying my child and all…don't you think?"

                The woman opens wide eyes as Dean takes back his coffee, having a swig in his way. _She probably thought Sam was responsible for Y/N current condition,_ Dean realises. He grins to himself as his steps resonates on the tiles. Usually, he would have flirt back, even ask for a number – that woman, in fact, is gorgeous. However, he spent the last night thinking of you, of ways to help you to make up your mind on the situation. That was the first time ever he had allowed himself to think of you when you're not around and he spent it painting up your figures on the ceiling of his room ; the first time he let his mind recalls those moments where you were laying in bed beside him, in a lost motel room of Ohio, your bare white skin shivering against his. Since last night, it's like you are stick on his eyes, watermarking every scenery. That feels strange and upsetting, yet…comforting, in some ways. Well, it helps knowing what to do next. So, no flirting with cute front desk chick.

Dean finally reaches your open door, and he stays there, looking at you while you're resting in the rocking chair, glasses on your noses, looking outside by the window. Surely, you heard steps stopping near you, because you turn your head toward him and your eternal ironic smile enlighten your face. You sharply take off your glasses and put it back in their case.

Damn, your eyes…

                "Hey Dean !," you greet him as you stand up. "So glad you came. Can't wait to get out of here. Is this for me?", you ask, pointing the plastic bag he is holding.

As an answer, he simply hands you the bag and takes a sip of his coffee. You take a look inside to evaluate the choice of clothes in there. You shrugs : it probably wouldn't have been your first choice, but you don't really care. Excited by the idea of putting all that journey behind you, you rush yourself next to your bed and pull the curtain closed.

                "So…", you say with a certain hesitation as you start to undress, "…is Sammy ok?"

                " I guess so," Dean answers, not looking in your direction to give you some privacy, preferring to take place near the window you just left. He rests on it ledge, searching for something to put is attention on. "He's sorry he couldn't come."

                "Sorry my ass," you mutter with bitterness in your tone.

                "He's sad you two have fought," Dean clears out. "He just thought you wouldn't be that happy to see him here today."

                "And he sent you instead?"

                The innuendo is intended and Dean grunts, ready to answer something pointy and rightful but, just when he's about to do so, you draw the curtain and get out. Instinctively, he turns his glance toward you. You're wrapped up in a black pant, a soft pink tank top and a black knitted crop top that stops just under your breasts which closes with a single huge button. Dean tries not to laugh. Well, he tried. Roaming through your stuff wasn't an easy task and, between outfits lying between horny schoolgirl and sexy secretary, he was lacking choices to find you something wearable and comfy. Damn, he saw you before in sweat pants and tees, but all your loose clothes were somewhere out of reach. Not his damn fault that you look so much like a…girl.

Plus, it's not that it doesn't fit (black and pink is a safe choice, as Google said…) but it doesn't look like you. You look so…clean. As you sit on the bed to put your hair into a ponytail, he glances at you in a more attentive way. It's not that you are particularly pretty today – you _are_ a pretty girl but, after all, you're getting out of the hospital for a reason, so, not very your best. However, your clothes, unlike what you were wearing for the last month, aren't the baggy kind and…that bump wasn't there the last time he saw you. As you stand up, it fully reveals. It's small, really, anyone wouldn't notice it. But it's there, that little bulge just beneath your belly bottom. The tank top can't lie. And it feels like Dean cannot just zoom out from it.

                "Come on, big guy," you drag him back, taking his coffee from his hand to take a sip, not noticing how he chew his lower lip, still resting on the edge of the window. You grimace from the taste – you're the sugar and cream kind, that one is pitch black - not noticing that his eyes are gleaming as you grab your stuff. "Let's get out of here."

                Like a gentleman, Dean takes your duffel bag from your shoulder and put it on his. After this, it's the usual routine. You go back to the front desk to obtain you prescription of meds and to sign some papers, committing to present yourself to a last appointment with your counsellor. Then, you pass the elevator doors, once, twice, you walk a couple of minutes and, finally, you're out. That's the best feeling you have felt in weeks and you instantly accelerate, taking a couple steps before Dean.

Under his amused look, you stretch your arms high over your head, as if you've been confined for the last six months. You take a deep breath with closed eyes : it smells like the beginning of fall. That feels so good, just to be outside, and you suddenly are dragging your feet to the car. As much you are looking forward to get home, as much you're not in a hurry to burry yourself in the bunker. That's not exactly home for you, is it? Still, you're happy to see a shiny Baby in the parking lot. You take place shotgun while Dean takes a moment to throw your bag in the trunk. As you roll the window down, you're actually glad he brought you that knitted crop top. It's getting frisky : sun is downing now in a grayish sunset. When he sits beside you, you're already curling up as an attempt to stay warm.

                "You should close the window if you're cold," he suggests as shutting the door close.

                "Nah," you decline. "I kinda like it."

                He grins to your answer and starts the engine, making Baby growls and rumble as Dean drives you out of the parking lot, heading to the highway. As he hits a red light, another growl resonates, but not from the car, and you shift on your seat, showing your discomfort.

                "Could we stop at that fast-food place you like on our way?" you ask, taking back the coffee to your lips and warming them up. " I swear god, if I don't eat…"

                Without taking his eyes off the road, Dean lift his arm upon your head and stretches it to the backseat. After a second, he reaches something and you can hear the appealing sound of a crumpled paper bag. The arm comes back and drops a smelly take-out order on your lap. You just can't resist :  in a move, you give up the coffee to the new free hand and you dig inside.

                "I thought you would be grateful to have something to bite on after being starved for a week," he explains, blinking twice before taking again a sip of his win-back coffee as you take a wrapped something-in-a-bun out of the bag.

                "Ham and swiss cheese?", you ask, high on disbelief after you unwrap the sandwich.

                "Damn right. Less mayo, extra cheese."

                You nod as you bite rough into the bread. Instantly, you feel appease. Dean can only send you a grinning face as you slowly chew the delicious mix of meat, cheese and bread. You couldn't even dream of this when you were in the hospital. To be true, that's the first real meal in days and the feeling coming from it is…well, it feels like Christmas and beach day at the same time. You practically _moan_ eating it, the mayo spreading on your cheeks, the bread brushing your lips, your tongue licking your hands where juices from the ham drip on your palms.

                "Feels good, huh?" Dean asks.

                Sheepish, you look at him.

                "Can't say I don't appreciate it," you say before putting the last bite into your mouth. The soothing effect only last for second and, a little sad, you wipe your hands with a paper napkin. "Well, you know, I'll probably puke that in a couple of minutes, but…thank you."

                "I thought all this puking thing was over?" Dean wonders as he frowns.

                "It's under control," you explain, "but it keeps happening every day or so. A least once every morning. That's not so bad, and…it will be over soon."

                "Well, give me heads up if you feel like I should stop, alright?"

                "Don't worry. I won't trash your baby."

                Dean slowly nods – that sentence is wrong in all sorts of ways… - and turns the wheels to get to the highway. Not noticing how his fingers stiffens around the wheel, you clean up your mess, putting all papers back in the bag, before dropping it at your feet. You turn your head to watch the scenery, only to realise big, dark clouds are crowding over your head. With a sigh, you roll the window up and Dean turn on the heating system. For a while, it's peaceful in the car, and you just look at the road and other cars, listening to the classic rock tape playing. Soon enough, you spot the exit leading to the bunker, but Dean just roll past it.

                "Whoa, champ, I think you just missed our exit," you warn him just as the first cloud crack and a light rainfall start dripping on your window.

                Dean puts his coffee in the cup holder and scratches the back of his head.

                "Yeah…I'm not feeling like getting back there yet. I thought we could just roll and hang a bit."

                "You want to hang out," you repeat, skeptical. "With me."

                "Why the doubting tone, sweetheart?", he asks. "We hang before."

                "I just that you never seemed to enjoy that much my company," you point out. "We never hang."

                "I can recall one time we did," he remembers you. "Plus, I know you like the car. "

                "Can't say I don't," you confirm as caressing the leather between you two. "I guess it's your call, then. Where are we going?"

                "Don't know," the hunter tells you. "Let's follow the road and talk, ok?"

                "Nah, I'm not the big talker kind. More like the do-it kind. Wanna hit a bar?"

                You put your hand on his arm saying so and he slightly turns his head toward you, only to meet your glowing gaze and your pink, pulpy smile. He drags sharply his eyes to the road.

                "For God sakes, Y/N", he grumbles, "…you're pregnant. Shouldn't we at least talk about that?"

                In a pulse, you loose your smile and take off your hand, then cuddle yourself as far away from the hunter as you can. All happiness just runs out of your body and is replaced by…something cold. A strong shiver rides your spine and you put back a murderous gaze on the road.

                "Won't be for long," you warn more than you say.

                "Why?" Dean asks rashly. "Why wouldn't you even just consider it?"

                You laugh in a really mean, naughty way, and Dean just squeezes the wheels a little more.

                "Why would I want a baby with you?", you question him, mirroring his tone. "Death rating is upraised around you, _chéri_. You're never around, always on the hunt, so, not very here to protect me from your evil Fanclub, which, by the way, would be very pleased to put a hand on anything that would provide leverage, aka your descendance. And there is all the personal stuff, too, me not liking you for an instance."

                "Then why me, Y/N?"

                Dean is rolling fast in the rain, you can hear the splashes of the water as the car hits the puddles.

                "Why me?", he repeats firmly. "If you hate me that much, why did you slept with me?"

                "As you said, I sleep with every willing boy."

                "Nah, not like that, Y/N," he says lifting a finger, "I know you're hurt, and I know that's all a coping mechanism, but this is shit. We had sex, repeatedly, during a whole week. That's ain't nothing."

                "Oh, _baby_ , am I breaking your dreamy romance?" you tease. "Sex is nothing for me, you have to know that."

                "This may be what you keep repeating yourself, but I'm starting to know you and your bedside manners. You never sleep over, always calling Sam to pick you up, or taking a cab, or even walking for miles instead of cuddling with your one-night friends. Damn, even I woke up with you in the other bed most of the time. Except for the two last nights, isn't that right? . I woke up with you, head straight on my chest, totally snuggled on me. That ain't nothing."

The hunter clears his voice. You are sticking your sight on the road. So much rain, tonight…your head hurts, now.

" You told me a lot, during those nights," Dean add, "and I'm not talking about dirty talk. You opened to me, about your father, your brother… I know how you must feel, right now."

                "You don't know a thing, Winchester!" you yell, loosing control.

                "Well damn tell me!"

                Your heart is beating faster. You can feel the air burning it way down your throat as you breathe. You try to grip at something, but everything is spinning around you.

                "I tried to reach back to you after that, but you kept pushing me away," Dean continues with an overbearing tone. "So why? Why are you protecting yourself from _me_?"

                "Enough, Dean!," you shoot without that force you wanted to put on. All your strength seems to fade away.

"Alright," he says, not changing the tone. "Why didn't you want to go to the hospital?"

"What?"

"When you fainted, back in your room. You woke up only a second, only to tell me not to take you to the hospital. Don't tell me you don't remember, I know you do. Why? You're not afraid of hospital or of medical procedures so why not the hospital, Y/N?"

 "Stop the car."

                "No."

                Dean accelerates even more. It's freaking hot in there, now. Like something is burning, everywhere, inside you, irradiating in your chest, on your arms, on your cheeks.

                "I will jump off the car!", you snap. "Pull over!"

                "You won't", he assures you with a little laugh, keeping the central way on the road. " You have even more survival instinct than me, you don't wanna die. Exactly why I want to know why not the hospital."

                "Not of you damn business!", you scowl, your voice a little weak.

                "Ok, then, so why did you wanted to get pregnant?", Dean asks again with a hard voice.

                You stare at him, motionless, frozen into place. What is happening? You feel like all force just been drained out of you, like you just run miles without stopping, and now here you are, panting, feeling horribly bad. You try to straight up your mind. He didn't said that…

                "I didn't…", you try.

                "Yes you did!" Dean yells in the car. "Enough shit, enough lies! You stopped taking you pills, you stopped using protection with _ME_! You knew what was gonna happen, you did it anyway!"

                "Please, stop…"

                "Why did you do that, Y/N?"

                "BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE!"

                Just as you spit your last sentence, you feel the hotness climbing up your throat and you can't help but to punch Dean right on the chest with a closed fist. Sharp, he pulls over, just in time for you to open the door and taste your ham sandwich again. Rain and sweat rolls down your neck as you feel your inside squeezes and you gag it out. All out. In a second, Dean has stopped the car and is next to you, holding your hair, petting your back, and you let him do so, too occupied reversing your stomach.

                You can't believe what you just said…

                After a while, you feel empty in all sorts of bad ways. Dean helps you redress and sit. Drained, you lay your head on the seat, hair wet from the rain and droplets running down your face. Dean looks at you and take a wet hair strand out of your eyes : you are pale as death and you your lips shaking, but in a very cold way and you're still holding the door handle like your life depends on it. What has he done?

                "Y/N," he says softly. "I'm…"

                "I've always been alone," you cut him off with a very atone voice.

Well, you don't really. It's like you are far, far from your body. You don't feel hot, cold, there anymore. You don't know that you are shaking. You hear yourself as you speak, but those aren't your lips. Those aren't your self. It's like a voice had wanted to be heard for so long, deep down inside you. You're looking right in front of you, but you see nothing. You ain't nothing anymore. Dean takes your hand in his as you talk : his angry face leaves it place to a more concerned, worried himself.

"Then I woke up one day," you say, words flowing out, "and I couldn't anymore. I just couldn't. I didn't want anyone to leave me ever again. I didn't plan it, I swear I didn't, and I really tried to fake that everything was okay…"

You shake your head, lightly. Hair strands drips on the seat.

"Dean," you whisper in a shocked very light, barely audible voice, turning your head toward him, but you not looking at his face. "I swear I didn't wanted this, but there we were, and I…I just thought, only for _one second_ , that it could be great…", you don't want to say it, but you can't restrain yourself, words rushes out of you, "…to take care of a little something, that would be mine, and that no one could take from me? Just to have someone…to care about? Caring about me?" …to love and be loved, you know?"

You laugh, but it's a very empty laugh, a really sad one. You wipe you nose with your finger and grin, but what Dean sees is an absent and disillusioned smile.

                "It's so silly…" you mumble. " Then I realised that I was so…selfish. How could I do this to you? And who could want that for a baby? Who could want to give this life, _my life_ , to someone? I am horrible to even _had thought_ about it. And then, it happened, and I am…I am a monster. Dean."

                You slowly look up to meet some green eyes filled with compassion, but you don't really see him, neither you feel he's squeezing your hand really tight now.

                " I'm so sorry," you blow. " What have I done?"

                "Listen to me," Dean says with a soft but firm voice.

                "I'm such a monster," you whispered, not hearing him. "I'm so sorry…"

                "You're not a monster!", he says, raising his voice. " And you're not alone. I'll take care of you. I know you don't trust me, but I swear, I'm gonna fix this. "

You want to listen to him. You want to believe everything is gonna be okay. You do.

But all you can hear is the heavy rain on the rooftop.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermat of the car discussion Dean had with the reader. She started to crack, didn't she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments. This was supposed to be the end, but it was too long, I had to cut it in half. I'm such a babbler...I really like this chapter, though, and I hope you'll like it too!

The motel door squeaks when Deans opens it and pushes you inside for you two to get away from the rain. Behind your back, you hear him as he shuts the door close and locks it : the floor cracks as the hunter and his worried beautiful eyes come into your field of sight. You don't really see him. You're frozen in place and the icy droplets rolling on your body have nothing to do with it.

" Hey," he says softly, taking a hair strand out of your eyes.

                You don't answer, lost in your thoughts. Where are you now? What have you done? Were you out of your mind? How could you…Your shaking hand comes instinctively to your stomach and you give yourself a little squeeze. Oh God, you're pregnant…Dean catches that and he lightly moves nearer, his emanating heat reaching your body.

"It's okay, kiddo," he whispers into your ear. "Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise. “

                To comfort you, he takes your hand from your stomach in his. Though, when his fingers touch your skin, the hunter lifts an eyebrow in surprise.

"Damn, you're cold!", he mutters before stroking your arms. "You're gonna catch death.”

You really don’t care, but you let him do as he pushes you into the small bathroom and brings you to take place on the edge of the bath. With care, that huge, impressive man kneels in front of you, a towel in hand, and slowly, carefully, wipes your face. You don’t understand. You don’t know why you are both here, you so devastated and him so…caring. You just…don’t remember ever been in situation where somebody tried to reach for you in that way. You can only look at him, at his arms when he dries your hair. At his chest. At his neck, his cheek. As the hunter is taking care of you, you can’t help but wonder : what does this man wants from you? Haven’t you gave him enough trouble for him to kick your ass out in the rain? What is wrong, with this man?

More important : what is wrong with you?

Dean cellphone ring makes you startle. Letting the towel drop on the floor, the hunter suddenly stands up and grabs up the phone.

“It’s Sam,” he tells you before answering. “Yeah, give me a sec, okay?”

Dean looks at you, unsure. You know he wants to make eye contact, but you just can’t give it to him. You’re too…something. That feeling, again, that weird one, undefinable, is creeping once more inside you, planting its black claws into your belly. The hunter seems to dither for a second, then point the bath with his chin.

“You should get in there, shower up. I’m gonna get some clothes in the car, so you’ll be able to change.” Deans hesitates again. “Hang in there, okay?”, he adds before he exits the room and closes the door.

Without realising it, you stand up and reach for the mirror. With a hand, you undo your hair, letting the strands fall down around your pale figures. Who are you, now? What changed? You’re looking at your own eyes and you don’t recognize yourself. Are you really considering believing that man? You’re that stupid, now? You look at your shoulders, at your neck, at your body and you just…hate yourself. For being weak. For being a fool. For your bad decisions, your so silly moves. Damn it, really, what changed?  You grab the mirror with both hands and really stare at yourself. You screwed everything so, so bad. It’s not anyone’s fault but yours. And you think Dean here will clean up your mess? You are ridiculous.

Plus, he only wants the baby, doesn’t he? That’s reasonable, to say the least. You know him from long enough : Dean is all about family and there’s his savior complex…he must be craving to put that little thing inside you somewhere safe, away from his deviant mama. This idea hurts you, really? Why do you feel that pain inside you? Do you like it, now? You don’t have to feel pain. You know you don’t.

Come on…you know exactly what you have to do.

Meanwhile, Dean comes back from the rain and drops his duffel bags on the coffee table, relieved to hear the sound of the flowing water. You’re in the shower. You listened to him. That’s a first. With an appeased sigh, he grabs his phone and put it to his ear.

“Got it,” he says.

“You couldn’t wait till the rain’s over?”, Sam asks on the other side of the line.

“Nah,” Dean answers, opening the bag and roaming in it. “I wanted her to have something to wear when she’ll get out of the shower. She’ll have to wear some of my clothes, though. I haven’t packed so much for her.”

“She could wear something of mine too. My bag’s also in the car.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his hands still siding clothes, “I’m sure she would have enjoyed the Sasquatch size…Ah! ”

Dean takes some sweat pants out of the bag and drops it to a chair, then a black t-shirt to go with it. At least, if not a fit, those will be comfy enough for you to sleep in. Anyway, it’s either those or jeans, suits or clean man underwear.

“How is she?” Sam asks again.

Dean scratches the back of his head before he let himself drop on a chair. He hasn’t taken the time to get some beer and now regrets it. However, he wasn’t really aware of the fact that he would spend the night in a motel with you…

“Not that well, “ the hunter admits.

“What did she say? Did she…spoke to you? Did you crack her?”

“Not really,” Dean mumbles, grabbing his nose bridge between his fingers. “Man, I’m not sure of the way I’m playing this. She barely said a word to me on our way here. She’s like…in shock or some shit like that. When I decided to stop because of the rain, she just…nodded. She hates crappy motels and she haven’t even told me to go fuck myself. She just fuckin nodded, man. “

“Well, give her time,” Sam advises. “That’s a lot to take for her. God, even for you, that must be a lot. Are you even…okay?”

“I guess,” Dean says a he lays a little more in his seat, something tired in his voice. “I mean, with all that is going on, Mom and Jack gone, Castiel not answering our calls…I don’t know, Sam. I think I just need for this to work. I need her to be okay. I’m just happy she’s in that shower and not running off again.”

A silence come from the other side of the line.

“Dean…”

When Dean hears the suddenly preoccupied tone of his brother, he redresses on his chair.

“How long has she been in that shower?”, Sam slowly echoes Dean’s thoughts.

In a second, Dean rushes himself in the bathroom, only to meet with a cloud of humid and hot fog…and a chill coming from the open window.

“SON OF A DAMN BITCH!”

An hour later, Sam walks into the motel room, hair dripping from the rain still pouring outside. His first sight is for his brother, half-laid into a recliner, a drink – as it seems, whiskey – in his hand and, by the look of it, not his first. When the eldest sees his brother, he just shakes his head and bites his lips in incredulity.

“She’s gone, man,” he drops before taking a sip.

Sam just sighs and grabs a chair by its backrest before dragging it in front of the man. Before sitting down, he passes a hand trough his hair to chase the soaked strands from his eyes. It’s been a while since he’d seen Dean so devastated.

“I guess we should have expected this,” he breathes out before straddling the chair. “Bite or flee, man. Bite or flee.”

“Well, that time, I trusted her. “

“We’re gonna find her, Dean,” Sam reassures, showing his palms. “That’s what we do, right?”

“Well, I rounded that fuckin town again and again,” Dean admits, glass still against his lips. “Not a trace. That damn, stupid girl is outside, under the storm, in her damp clothes, pregnant and disturbed, and I just can’t find her. “ Dean chuckles before drinking again. “I’m the last who seen her, you should interrogate me.”

Sam gently stands up and catches his brother glass before he brings it to his lips again.

“Look like you find the liquor store on your way,” he comments, putting it on the coffee table, just a little too far for his brother to grab back. “But you’re not wrong : you’re the last to have seen her. You…” Sam hesitates before clearing his throat, ”you know her a bit, right? I mean, you shared some kind of intimacy. Do you know something about her? Something that could be helpful?”

Dean breathes out and rubs his eyebrows.

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

“Come on, man. She hasn’t shared anything personal with you?”

“Yeah. She likes to be on top. What do you expect me to tell you?”, he adds, his tone rising, his eyes darting in Sam’s direction. “We’re not close. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even my friend. She hates me, ok !?! That fucking girl hates me and I just can’t get her out of my head.” He pauses, frustration rising. “Son of a bitch! ”

Sam keep silent for a second, but can’t repress a corner smile, which only ignite his brother angriness. As he clenches his teeth, Sam shrugs.

“Well, she’s surely not back to the bunker. She doesn’t have money or anything valuable to trade for food or travel. And she doesn’t have her medicine, so she’ll be puking here and there. Have you called the cops?”

“Of course, I did.”

“Well,” Sam says with resignation while standing up, “time to hack some cameras.”

Two days later, they are still in there, with no lead and less and less of hope. The girl is good for hiding, to say the least : neither the city cameras or the police ever saw her on the streets and neither the guy from the grocery store or the drugstore noticed a girls looking like her. At a point, Dean just shut down the laptop, out of patience.

“That’s just ain’t going anywhere,” he calls.

Sitting in front of him with a coffee, Sam must admit that he is right. Without any demon or angel help – Castiel is still unreachable – they lack path to follow. They could always use a little magic, like some localisation spell, but that would mean to go back to the bunker and Sam is still persuaded that the girl is around. However, as Dean stands up to pour himself another coffee, his cellphone rings and he picks it before reading the number on it.

“Hospital, “ he tells his brother before answering. “ Yeah?”

The hunter listen with attention for a while, punctuating sometimes with an “ alright” or a “I understand”, not enough for Sam to understand the purpose of the call. Still, he can read on Dean serious an attentive expression that something hot is happening there and, when Dean hang up, he’s already up, his jacket in hand.

“Pack up,” Dean commands before grabbing his own jacket. “She’ll be at the hospital in two hours for an abortion and believe me : she won’t miss it. “

“They’ve told you that?”, Sam asks with incredulity.

“She schedules an appointment yesterday and they forgot to tell her to bring her pills. I’m the one in charge of her, remember? They asked me to tell her.” There is a bit of bitterness in Dean’s tone and something sad in his eyes when he looks at his brother, as if this idea is hurting him in some way.

“Well, let’s go tell her,” Sam says softly. “Hurry : you know she hates when we’re late…”

An hour later, both brothers rush inside the hospital lobby and head toward the family planning clinic. Both are nearly jogging in the hallway, juggling with _what-if_ questions : what if she’s not there, what if she’s there, what if it’s too late? When the frosted glass doors slide open, Dean finds it hard to swallow, feeling his heart beatboxing inside his chest. And then, it stops.

There she is, sitting like a well-behaved child, hands on her knees and looking down. She’s horribly pale, dirty hair curling around her face and visibly uncomfortable in soiled clothes, but still breathing and, by where she’s sitting in this exact location…still pregnant. Dean practically runs in her direction, but Sam is faster and get near her first : when he touches her arm, she startle, as she wasn’t aware of their presence. That’s awkward : their alone in the waiting room, except for the old receptionist, not caring about them, lost in her thought behind her high desk.

“Y/N,” Sam starts with care in his voice. “Hi.”

“Sam. Dean!,” she babbles, visibly feeling queasy. “What are you doing in here?”

“What _we_ are doing here?”, Dean fumes, hands on his hips really near his gun, like he’s about to shoot her. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Dean, not now,” Sam warns.

“I was worried to death!”, Dean roars, not listening to his brother. “Where were you? I looked everywhere for you.”

Your eyes drop again on the floor.

“Hiding,” you spit. You won’t tell that you stayed on the streets, sleeping in sheds and under porches, avoiding police cars and public places. By the time you lived with them, you managed to learn a few tricks…and they don’t have to know that.

“From us?,” Sam questions softly, sitting next to her. “Why would you do that?”

You just shake your head, showing you won’t answer. Dean, in front of you, kneels to get his face inches from your face and lift your chin with his finger. You clench your teeth : the move is hard, dominant and you shake your head out of it, something provocative rightly coming back. Old reflexes. Old defense mechanism.

“I don’t have to answer you,” you hiss.

“You damn well do,” Dean mumbles between his teeth.

You slightly push him and stand up but he grabs your arm : Sam immediately stands too, placing himself between the receptionist and you to hide the scene.

“Get off me,” you warn, deadly serious.

“No,” Dean answers, tightening his grip. “I’m not letting you go anymore. You escaped trough a damn window to avoid facing me. Now I’m not leaving you a choice.”

“Don’t make a scene, Dean,” you say while shaking your arm, but he won’t let go. “I took my decision.”

“Well, I disagree with it.”

It’s the first time Dean says the words. Hearing it makes him feel…strange. But it’s the truth, and now he knows it, and he know you need to hear it.

“I want this baby, Y/N.”

“Of course you do”, you say as an evidence, as something so clear anyone would be a foul to think otherwise. “Believe me, that’s a bad idea. This is better for everyone.”

“That’s not better,” Dean states, “that’s sabotage. I won’t let you do that. I won’t let you break us down because you’re too damaged to realise that’s…it may be what we need, Y/N. It may save us. It may save you.”

“And how are you even supposed to stop me, Dean?”  

He pauses, a second, then takes your hands in his. You look down to those big, callouses hands, holding yours. Something raises up in your chest, like a hot breath that make your eyes tickles.

“I’m gonna ask,” he says with a deep voice, caressing your palms with his thumbs. “Don’t do this. Just don’t do it. I swear, I’m gonna be there for you and the baby. Sammy’s gonna be there too. We’ll help, we’ll…we’ll take care of you.” He breathes, before adding, “Y/N…you’ll never be alone again. Don’t do it.”

“Y/N Y/L/N?” a feminine voice calls from behind Sam.

Sam open his body just a bit so you three can see the woman. She’s holding a pad and wears a uniform and you know exactly why she’s calling for you. Their ready for you. You take back your hands from Dean’s and pass in front of him.

“ I’m sorry, I have to go…” you let go in a whisper.

Dean lets you pass, but you’re maybe two steps away when his voice raises again.

“I won’t forgive you.”

Taken aback, you slowly turn around to front the hunter and you are surprised to see so much emotion on his face. His eyes are full of tears, but his figures are hard. His eyes are plunged in yours and he nearly touches your soul when he speaks.

“I swear, if you do this, I won’t forgive you.”

“Dean!” Sam tries, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“No!”, he yells, shaking his brother off. “I tried everything, Y/N. I really tried to reach out for you. To show you that I care, a lot. But if you get rid of it…of our baby…I won’t be able to look at you anymore. And whatever the reasons, good or bad, and whatever the good excuses you’re making in your mind right now, and whatever if you’ll be better in a year, in ten year, it won’t change a damn thing. I won’t ever forgive you.”

You feel it. Your heart cracking. But before you can speak, Dean gets out, hiding his face with a hand. Someone gently takes you by your elbow : the woman says soft words, but you don’t hear it, nor you hear Sam saying that he’ll wait for you or see him taking a seat in the waiting room. You feel yourself making a step, two, pulled by the woman, but your mind is overwhelmed.

_You feel._

Everything. You see it back, like in a movie, but really fast. That moment, in the car, when your brother died. That moment when your devastated and junkie of a father sold you to that witch. The rituals. All those moments where you were abused, abandoned, betrayed…hurt. You don’t only see it, you suddenly _feel_ it, in your flesh, in your skin. It _hurts_. God, it hurts so much…it burns you from the inside, it cuts you, in your stomach, in your head, in your hearts…And then you see them. Sam. When he saved you. And Dean…the motel in Ohio. The so caring green eyes. And you destroyed it. God, you destroyed everything.

Sam hears it first. A silent sob, somewhere near, just enough to make him turn his head. Just in time to see you when you collapse on the floor and suddenly burst in tears, tears so violent that it makes all your body shake. In a second, he is next to you, taking you by your shoulders and putting you tight against his chest in a powerful hug. And you are sobbing, and coughing, and sobbing again, hands grabbing his shirt desperately. You can’t control yourself. It’s too hard, you can’t do it.

“I can’t,” you croak between your tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t…”

“Shh,” Sam whisper softly as he pets your hair. “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay…”

And you stay there, under the look of the worried nurse. And you cry it out, all of your crappy life, all of your horrible existence…all of your pain. That is the feeling. A powerful, disgusting, murderous pain in your body, too much to cry in a day, in a life…but you try. You just empty yourself in Sam’s arms, for long, long minutes, as he feels disarmed holding a so broken you.

At the end, you just can’t cry anymore. You’re just laying against him, fragile, sad and silent.


End file.
